‘Certainly I am not a nun. Be so good as to come this way. ” “Call it what you like,” Anna answered. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. A wild passion of shame and self-disgust swept over her. She found it rather funny that he always wore the shirt fastidiously tucked in and never wore the ensemble without a stiff brown leather belt. " "Farewell, Jack," cried twenty voices.
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